The Mural

i notice my heart's beating really fast

probably too much caffeine

something indistinct feels very sad.




there are at least two mournings:

dismay with what is

& grieving what is not.




it's hardest, for most of us

when both hit at once;

like death, i guess.




the abstract temporality of it

seems difficult for us to handle:

hard to average it out over decades.




in the house where my dad grew up

one wall was a mural of a Tuscan villa;

we all ate English muffins there one day




when I was a kid, toaster on the table

buttering the mottled surface,

the perfect breakfast, never repeated.




after my dad's mom died they sold the house

so I'll never see that mural again, or

eat a meal in that quiet, flower-filled dining room.




that's the second kind, I think; the first

is when I sit blankly at table in a messy room

all alone, in so many strange ways




realizing, this is it: this is me as a grown-up

and it feels like squandering a lead,

spoiling potential with misuse and neglect.




my heart is still beating very fast

but now it doesn't bother me as much;

I am slipping into that Tuscan coastline




barefoot, with a much younger grandfather

chuckling beside me, having never made

any of these mistakes.
















may 2023